That first transition step out onto the ice always makes Yuri's heart give a little leap before the familiar sensation takes over and skating becomes as natural as walking. Only this time, for some reason, it's not a little leap but a juddering skip, and even as he glides over to face Yakov and Lilia his heart rate isn't returning to normal as it usually does. In fact, as he hears cheers and squeals of delight start to ring down from the rafters of the arena (except that this isn't Sheremetyevo, there's no escaping them this time) his heartbeat seems to be increasing in pace, a heavy thudding that he'd swear he can feel in the veins of his neck and under his arms.
At Skate Canada, before the short program, they'd merely given him a few general words of advice in this moment before the clock starts for him. Keep your shoulders loose. Don't rush the step sequence. Pull the sit spin as tight as you can, or you'll lose the momentum and have to work harder to come out of it. But for some reason, there's a strange sort of urgency in their tones, and as far as he can tell they're not talking about his performance at all.
'Yuri, there's no need to be tense just because it's the Rostelecom Cup --'
'All the work you did in practice won't betray you. Listen to us and have confidence in yourself -- '
(Why are they talking like this? Is there something he's mishearing? It's too damned loud in here, all this extra noise, and it couldn't have been this noisy before, could it? It's like being in that horrible hotel banquet room again, straining to listen to what the people in front of you are saying, but it might as well be mouths moving in silence for all that he can hear properly. Is that where he is, still trapped in that suffocating crowd? That can't be right, he must be on the ice, but if they're on the ice and Yakov and Lilia are right there, then why is it so hard to hear them?)
I can't hear very well, he wants to tell to them, but his own mouth isn't moving, either. A cold trickle of sweat is tracing a thin line down his spine, like the blade of a knife against his too-warm skin, as his heart pounds in sickening escalation. Calm down. Calm the fuck down!
Suddenly, a pulse of sound, shouts and cheers, splinters the deafening silence in his head. And there's movement off to his left, in the kiss-and-cry -- a point of focus, the final outcome -- and out of pure reflex he turns his head just enough to see what's going on there.
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At Skate Canada, before the short program, they'd merely given him a few general words of advice in this moment before the clock starts for him. Keep your shoulders loose. Don't rush the step sequence. Pull the sit spin as tight as you can, or you'll lose the momentum and have to work harder to come out of it. But for some reason, there's a strange sort of urgency in their tones, and as far as he can tell they're not talking about his performance at all.
'Yuri, there's no need to be tense just because it's the Rostelecom Cup --'
'All the work you did in practice won't betray you. Listen to us and have confidence in yourself -- '
(Why are they talking like this? Is there something he's mishearing? It's too damned loud in here, all this extra noise, and it couldn't have been this noisy before, could it? It's like being in that horrible hotel banquet room again, straining to listen to what the people in front of you are saying, but it might as well be mouths moving in silence for all that he can hear properly. Is that where he is, still trapped in that suffocating crowd? That can't be right, he must be on the ice, but if they're on the ice and Yakov and Lilia are right there, then why is it so hard to hear them?)
I can't hear very well, he wants to tell to them, but his own mouth isn't moving, either. A cold trickle of sweat is tracing a thin line down his spine, like the blade of a knife against his too-warm skin, as his heart pounds in sickening escalation. Calm down. Calm the fuck down!
Suddenly, a pulse of sound, shouts and cheers, splinters the deafening silence in his head. And there's movement off to his left, in the kiss-and-cry -- a point of focus, the final outcome -- and out of pure reflex he turns his head just enough to see what's going on there.